


The Lightning Thief

by QueerCubed, TheWriter2



Series: The Golden Trio and the Olympians [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, LGBT characters, Original Characters - Freeform, Zeus is an asshole, apollo is the only bitch we repsect, ares is also an asshole, big three can't keep it in their pants, kickass dog companions, please stan amanda and iris, zeus's terrible parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCubed/pseuds/QueerCubed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriter2/pseuds/TheWriter2
Summary: Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson is on the most dangerous quest of his life. With the help of a satyr, a daughter of Athena, and the powerful daughters of Zeus and Hades, Percy must journey across the United States to catch a thief who has stolen the original weapon of mass destruction — Zeus’ master bolt. Along the way, he must face a host of mythological enemies determined to stop him. Most of all, he must come to terms with a father he has never known, and an Oracle that has warned him of betrayal by a friend.
Series: The Golden Trio and the Olympians [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079717
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of the PJO canon with two new main characters--Amanda and Iris, both daughters of the big three. Since Percy doesn't meet them until he gets to camp, his story starts out the same as canon. The first four chapters are going to be the same as the original, but by the end of chapter 4 things will get mixed up with the addition of our new characters. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

####  _ Percy _

Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood. 

If you’re reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It’s scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. 

If you’re a normal kid, reading this because you think it’s fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened. 

But if you recognize yourself in these pages--is you feel something stirring inside--stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it’s only a matter of time before  _ they _ sense it too, and they’ll come for you. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

* * *

My name is Percy Jackson. 

There are two other people helping me tell this story, but you’ll meet them later on. Right now, the spotlight's on me. 

I’m twelve years old. Until a  _ few  _ months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York. 

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short, miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan— twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumbled.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

* * *

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you _ shut up _ ?"

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Jackson," he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red. I said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ..."

"Well..." I racked my brain to remember. "Kronos was the king god, and—"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan," I corrected myself. "And ... he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go— intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

I wanted to get angry, this guy pushed me so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C— in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be  _ as good _ ; he expected me to be  _ better _ . And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

* * *

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from  _ that _ school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But—"

"You— _ will _ —stay—here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I told him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. " _ Now _ ."

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

* * *

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me.

I said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on  _ Tom Sawyer _ from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water.  _ Hisss _ !

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our  _ teacher _ . Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious."

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved. I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?"


	2. Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death

####  _ Percy _

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty- four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr—a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

It got so I almost believed them—Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.

But Grover couldn't fool me. When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was lying.

Something was going on. Something  _ had  _ happened at the museum.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but it sounded good.

The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: I would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

And yet... there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The  _ view  _ of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, who'd been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without me.

I'd miss Latin class, too—Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

* * *

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the  _ Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology  _ across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes.  _ I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson. _

I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... worried about Percy, sir."

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"... alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing him," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the boy to mature more."

"But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline— "

"Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he still can."

"Sir, he  _ saw  _ her... ."

"His imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that."

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow  _ clop-clop-clop _ , like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night.

"Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... tired."

I turned so he couldn't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back.

They thought I was in some kind of danger.

* * *

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Percy," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's ... it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean ..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyes stung.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," I said, trembling.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say ... you're not normal, Percy. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me.

"Percy—"

But I was already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other guys were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were  _ rich  _ juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer and I told them I was going back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh," one of the guys said. "That's cool."

They went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much  _ did  _ you hear?"

"Oh ... not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?"

He winced. "Look, Percy ... I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ..."

"Grover—"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ..."

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar."

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer.

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

_ Grover Underwood _

_ Keeper _

_ Half-Blood Hill _

_ Long Island, New York _

_ (800) 009-0009 _

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... summer address."

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay," I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or ... or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Percy, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended  _ me _ .

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of bloodred cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, man—"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?"

"Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that  _ snip  _ across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Percy, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like ... Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn."

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost—older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.

"This is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time."

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin.


	3. Grover Unexpectedly Loses His Pants

####  _ Percy _

Confession time: I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover was freaking me out, looking at me like I was a dead man, muttering "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be sixth grade?"

Whenever he got upset, Grover's bladder acted up, so I wasn't surprised when, as soon as we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, then made a beeline for the restroom.

Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase, slipped outside, and caught the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," I told the driver.

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting my dad.

I don't have any memories of him, just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. My mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad. She has no pictures. See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back. Lost at sea, my mom told me. Not dead. 

Lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid. Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts. Between the two of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. The way Smelly Gabe treated her, the way he and I got along ... Well, when I came home is a good example.

I walked into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blared ESPN. Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom?"

"Working," he said. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight. He looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He had about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp, as if that made him handsome or something. He managed the Electronics Mega-Mart in Queens, but he stayed home most of the time. I don't know why he hadn't been fired long before. He just kept on collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigars that made me nauseous, and on beer, of course. Always beer. Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our "guy secret."

Meaning, if I told my mom, he would punch my lights out.

"I don't have any cash," I told him.

He raised a greasy eyebrow. Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which was surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," he said. “Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looked at me with a twinge of sympathy. 

"Come on, Gabe," he said. "The kid just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeated.

Eddie scowled into his bowl of pretzels. The other two guys passed gas in harmony.

"Fine," I said. I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" he shouted after me. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

I slammed the door to my room, which really wasn't my room. During school months, it was Gabe's "study." He didn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loved shoving my stuff in the closet, leaving his muddy boots on my windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne and cigars and stale beer.

I dropped my suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home.

Gabe's smell was almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn. But as soon as I thought that, my legs felt weak. I remembered Grover's look of panic—how he'd made me promise I wouldn't go home without him. A sudden chill rolled through me. I felt like someone—something—was looking for me right now, maybe pounding its way up the stairs, growing long, horrible talons. Then I heard my mom's voice.

"Percy?"

She opened the bedroom door, and my fears melted. My mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an  unkind word to anyone, not even me or Gabe.

"Oh, Percy." She hugged me tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas!"

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home. We sat together on the edge of the bed. While I attacked the blueberry sour strings, she ran her hand through my hair and demanded to know everything I hadn't put in my letters. She didn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She didn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right?

I told her she was smothering me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her. 

From the other room, Gabe yelled, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe. For her sake, I tried to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself. I started choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum …

"What?" my mom asked. Her eyes tugged at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

I felt bad lying. I wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies with the yarn, but I thought it would sound stupid. She pursed her lips. She knew I was holding back, but she didn't push me.

"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk?"

"Three nights—same cabin."

"When?"

She smiled. "As soon as I get changed."

I couldn't believe it. My mom and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appeared in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

I wanted to punch him, but I met my mom's eyes and I understood she was offering me a deal: be nice to Gabe for a little while. Just until she was ready to leave for Montauk. Then we would get out of here.

"I was on my way, honey," she told Gabe. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes got small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," I muttered. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," my mom said evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money.

That's all. Besides," she added, "Gabriel won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softened a bit. "So this money for your trip ... it comes out of your clothes budget,  right?"

"Yes, honey," my mother said.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip ... And maybe if the kid apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week.

But my mom's eyes warned me not to make him mad. Why did she put up with this guy? I wanted to scream. Why did she care what he thought?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrowed. His tiny brain was probably trying to detect sarcasm in my statement.

"Yeah, whatever," he decided.

He went back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," my mom said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about...  whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, I thought I saw anxiety in her eyes—the same fear I'd seen in Grover during the bus ride—as if my mom too felt an odd chill in the air. But then her smile returned, and I figured I must have been mistaken. She ruffled my hair and  went to make Gabe his seven-layer dip.

* * *

An hour later we were ready to leave.

Gabe took a break from his poker game long enough to watch me lug my mom's bags to the car. He kept griping and groaning about losing her cooking—and more important, his '78 Camaro—for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," he warned me as I loaded the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

Like I'd be the one driving. I was twelve. But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame me.

Watching him lumber back toward the apartment building, I got so mad I did something I can't explain. As Gabe reached the doorway, I made the hand gesture I'd seen Grover make on the bus, a sort of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over my heart, then a shoving movement toward Gabe. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon. Maybe it was just the wind, or some freak accident with the hinges, but I didn't stay long enough to find out. I got in the Camaro and told my mom to step on it.

Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

We'd been going there since I was a baby. My mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place where she'd met my dad.

As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and work  disappearing from her face. Her eyes turned the color of the sea. We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. We walked on the beach, fed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. But ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This—along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano—was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like me.

When it got dark, we made a fire. We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom told me  stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, I got up the nerve to ask about what was always on my mind whenever we came to Montauk—my father. Mom's eyes went all misty. I figured she would tell me the same things she always did, but I never got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," she said. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair, you know, and his green eyes." 

Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, Percy. He  would be so proud."

I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years.

"How old was I?" I asked. "I mean ... when he left?"

She watched the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this  beach. This cabin."

"But... he knew me as a baby."

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby, but he never saw you. He had to leave before you were born."

I tried to square that with the fact that I seemed to remember ... something about my father. A warm glow. A smile. I had always assumed he knew me as a baby. My mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen me ...

I felt angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resented him for going on that ocean  voyage, for not having the guts to marry my mom. He'd left us, and now we were stuck with Smelly Gabe.

"Are you going to send me away again?" I asked her. "To another boarding school?"

She pulled a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Her voice was heavy. "I think ... I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out.

My mom's eyes welled with tears. She took my hand, squeezed it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I—I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

Her words reminded me of what Mr. Brunner had said—that it was best for me to leave  Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I said.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Percy. But you don't realize how important you are. I  thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"Safe from what?"

She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me—all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I'd tried to forget. During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground. When the  teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed me when I told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands. In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move. I knew I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword.

But I couldn't make myself tell her. I had a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and I didn't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom said. "They told me that was a  mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you. And I just... I just can't stand to do it."

"My father wanted me to go to a special school?"

"Not a school," she said softly. "A summer camp."

My head was spinning. Why would my dad—who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me born— talk to my mom about a summer camp? And if it was so important, why hadn't she ever mentioned it before?

"I'm sorry, Percy," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I  couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good? But if it's only a summer camp ..."

She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more  questions she would start to cry.

* * *

That night I had a vivid dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagles wings. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder. I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. I knew I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's  wide eyes, and I screamed, No!

I woke with a start.

Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery. 

With the next thunderclap, my mom woke. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."

I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end. Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice—someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door. My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock. Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he wasn't... he  wasn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror—not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing.

" _O Zeu kai alloi theoi!_ " he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I was too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover didn't have his pants on—and where his legs should be ... where his legs should be …

My mom looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. Go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his  shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me. I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves.


	4. My Mom Teaches Me Bullfighting

####  _ Percy _

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas. Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo— lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal. 

All I could think to say was, "So, you and my mom... know each other?"

Grover's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. 

"Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching me?"

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

"Uhm ... what are you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty " _Blaa-ha-ha!_ "

I'd heard him make that sound before, but I'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat.

"Goat!" he cried.

"What?"

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"You just said it didn't matter."

" _Blaa-ha-ha!_ There are satyrs who would trample you underhoof for such an insult!"

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course."

"Then why—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be  perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

"Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.

"Percy," my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird.  My mom made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened  farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The summer camp I told you about." My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go."

"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn."

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it  means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die."

"Whoa. You said 'you.'"

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

"You meant 'you.' As in me."

"I meant you, like 'someone.' Not _you_ , you."

"Boys!" my mom said.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to  avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," my mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive. Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill me. Then I thought about Mr. Brunner ... and the sword he had thrown me. Before I could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded. I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the  same time.

I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and said, "Ow."

"Percy!" my mom shouted.

"I'm okay... ."

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in. Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump. 

"Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip,  thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope.

"Percy," my mother said, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered.

I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

I swallowed hard. "Who is—"

"Percy," my mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car."

My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" my mother told me. "Percy—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door."

"Mom, you're coming too."

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" I shouted. "You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns …

"He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But..."

"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please."

I got mad, then—mad at my mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was  lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

I climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom."

"I told you—"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was  surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mom hadn't come to my aid. Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass. Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders. His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener. I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real. 

I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—"

"Pasiphae's son," my mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you."

"But he's the Min—"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

_Not a scratch ,_ I remembered Gabe saying.

Oops.

"Percy," my mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me."

"Keeping me near you? But—"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and  Grover wasn't getting any lighter. The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Separate!  Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat. He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest. The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I jumped to the side. The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass. We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as my mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile  away. We'd never make it. The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover. 

"Run, Percy!" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!"

She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she  dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if she were a  holographic projection. A blinding flash, and she was simply ... gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear. Newfound strength burned in my limbs—the same rush of energy I'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons.

The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched  over, snuffling my best friend, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.

I couldn't allow that.

I stripped off my red rain jacket.

"Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid!  Ground beef!"

_"Raaaarrrrr!"_ The monster turned toward me, shaking his meaty fists.

I had an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all. I put my back to the big pine tree and waved my red jacket in front of the bull-man, thinking I'd jump out of the way at the last moment. But it didn't happen like that.

The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way I tried to dodge.

Time slowed down. My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, so I leaped straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck. How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out. The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake me. I locked my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils. The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear:  forward. Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off.

"Food!" Grover moaned.

The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. I  thought about how he had squeezed the life out of my mother, made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage filled me like high-octane fuel. I got both hands around one horn and I pulled backward with all my might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap!

The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry, but I had a horn in my hands, a ragged bone weapon the size of a knife.

The monster charged.

Without thinking, I rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, I drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.

The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The monster was gone.

* * *

####  _ Iris  _

I didn’t  _ want  _ to be right about the storms that night. But I had known for a while that Percy was coming, that a war was brewing. My father, Zeus, is nothing if not a bully. And a child. His master bolt gone, he’d been threatening war since March, and he certainly wasn’t holding back tonight. My hound, Orpheus, wasn’t too far from Thalia’s tree, he was doing rounds. Patrolling for monsters, not that they can make it past the property line without an invitation, but it’s still nice to know what’s coming at you. 

Word to the wise, always know what enemies are coming, otherwise you’re dead where you stand. 

At least that’s what my father tells me. 

The rain was calming, actually, though it never rains in camp. I love storms, they don’t threaten me but bring a sense of comfort, a sense of security. Mostly. I can’t say this storm was fun for anyone else, though, all of the campers knew it was the rage of warfare. I’d been woken up earlier in the evening from a dream, a horse and an eagle fighting on the beach. Poseidon and Zeus. Or perhaps, me and my cousin that I had yet to meet. I couldn’t decide, but I knew I’d figure it out soon enough. Orpheus’ howl was the first thing to alert me that something was wrong. The next was the winds. 

The wind in camp started to whip around me, something it only does when something is horribly wrong, as it was that night. The whispers in my ear that pulled me forward, just a name. Percy. I grabbed my sword and started at a run towards Thalia’s tree, it wasn’t far to run. Chiron and Annabeth noticed me take off, Chiron immediately called to me but I didn’t have the time to answer. I broke the barrier in time to see a boy roll out of the way of the Minotaur, I went to charge the creature, but the small, scrawny boy had already stabbed him with his own horn. The Minotaur wailed in pain and agony as it evaporated into nothing. 

The boy was collapsed on his knees and I started towards him. 

“Hey!” I called, “Are you alright?” 

“My mom,” he croaked. I got close to him and felt my hair stand on edge, lightning struck down from the heavens. I blocked it with my blade and the boy watched in horror as a bolt that should’ve sent me flying did nothing but soak into my body.    
  
“That’s enough of that,” I sighed as my eyes clouded over and the storm dissipated. The boy was gawking at me, his eyes were sea green and his hair was black. He was bloodied and bruised, scrawny. He had scars that marked his skin, and I didn’t think they were from typical monsters. Instantly, I knew who he was. I’d been expecting him at camp for years. 

“You-the storm-” he huffs and I laugh.

“Weather is my specialty. Let’s get you to camp,” I reach out my hand and he points towards a figure on the hill. A satyr. 

“My friend,” he pants and I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

“I’ve got your friend, come on, let’s get you to camp,” I insist. He stands on his feet shakily and the satyr, I think his name is Grover, floats in the air next to us. “You must be Percy,” I say and he looks at me confused.

“How?” he croaks. 

“The winds can tell you a lot if you’re willing to listen.” I repeat the line my father had said to me years ago. “You did a good job of killing the Minotaur.” 

“He killed my mom,” is all Percy can reply with. His voice had a shake to it, and I think mine would too if I were him. He didn’t know about this stuff yet, he wasn’t raised in it like me. And I think it takes a lot of courage to do something like that with so little understanding. Or it takes a lot of stupidity. 

“You’re safe now, Percy, nothing can hurt you behind the property line,” I promised him. Chiron and Annabeth were waiting for us and as we made it to the Big House, he collapsed. “Percy!” I dropped onto my knees next to him and saw he was barely conscious. Annabeth popped her head over to look at him, nosy as always. Chiron stands next to her and frowns.

“He’s the one,” Annabeth said with something like excitement in her voice, “he must be.” 

“Silence, Annabeth,” Chiron replied and his eyes assessed Percy who was looking up at the three of us in confusion. His eyes were flooded with sadness and I couldn’t help but think about his mom. “He’s still conscious, you two bring them inside.” 

“You grab Grover,” I told Annabeth as I plucked Percy off of the ground. I wasn’t strong enough to carry him, but the wind was able to assist me. Annabeth frowned but obeyed, grabbing Grover and pulling him up. We started dragging the two inside. “Don’t worry, little cousin,” I whispered so softly that only Percy would be able to hear, “you’re gonna be okay.” 


	5. I Pay Pinochle with a Horse

####  _ Percy _

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I don't..."

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me.

He had blue eyes— at least a dozen of them—on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

* * *

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover, Not the goat boy.

So maybe I'd had a nightmare. Maybe my mom was okay. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And …

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I... well, the least I could do ... I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in my lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Minotaur," I said. 

"Urn, Percy, it isn't a good idea—"

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom. Is she really ..."

He looked down.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm—I'm the worst satyr in the world."

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, Well, that settles it.

Grover was a satyr. I was ready to bet that if I shaved his curly brown hair, I'd find tiny horns on his head. But I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even minotaurs. All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

I was alone. An orphan. I would have to live with ... Smelly Gabe? No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I was seventeen and join the army. I'd do something.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid—poor goat, satyr, whatever—looked as if he expected to be hit.

I said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to  _ protect  _ you."

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least... I was."

"But why ..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies—my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, I felt guilty.

"Sorry," I said. "I should've let you taste."

His eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just... wondered."

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I said. "My mom's. Homemade."

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards."

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff"

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table.

"Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I held on to it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I wasn't going to let it go.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them. I looked around for the girl who had helped me get Grover over the property line last night, but she didn’t seem to be around.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels— what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my stepfather.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron... ."

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cried.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice.

If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say,  _ You killed a minotaur! _ or  _ Wow, you're so awesome! _ or something like that.

Instead she said, "You drool when you sleep."

Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?"

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence."

I tried to remember the beginning of the term. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher the first week of the year. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You  _ do  _ know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I said.

"I'm afraid not,  _ sir _ ," he said.

"Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all  _ civilized  _ young men to know the rules."

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. 

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, _ I _ was his star student. He expected  _ me  _ to have the right answer.

"Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?'

"She said ..." I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"— he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive."

I stared at the others around the table.

I waited for somebody to yell,  _ Not _ ! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital  _ G _ , God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class."

"Zeus," I said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you."

"But they're stories," I said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinched when he said my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come  _ so-o-o _ far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut.

"Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that  _ immortal  _ means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

I was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made me hesitate.

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," I said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover said, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe.'"

He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up.

"Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha.' Absolutely unfair."

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid.

"And ..." I stammered, "your father is ..."

" _ Di immortales _ , Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course."

I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master.

"You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine."

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?"

"Y-yes, Mr. D."

"Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like ... in  _ America _ ?"

"Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West."

"The what?"

"Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know, since you passed my course—the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods."

"And then they died."

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's  _ we _ , as if I were part of some club.

"Who are you, Chiron? Who was that girl that helped me last night? Who ... who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."


	6. We Break the Bathroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extra update this week since ch 5 didn't really have anything new

####  _ Percy _

Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn I was carrying. Another said, "That's  _ him _ ."

Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weathervane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

* * *

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron. "I mean ... he was a good protector. Really."

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate ... ah ... fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover's fault. I also felt really, really guilty. If I hadn't given Grover the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble.

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about my mother's fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death. The beginnings of an idea—a tiny, hopeful fire—started forming in my mind.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real ..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now ... until we know more . . . I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods."

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" I asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" I decided to drop the subject.

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were thirteen of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a common area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined fire pit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty.”

"No one ever stays in Cabin Two. And there is only one occupant in Cabin One, most of the time."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull me back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Chiron put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come along, Percy."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," I observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really ..."

He smiled down at me. " _ The _ Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about that. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish ... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

####  _ Amanda _

Here’s the thing about camp--word travels quickly. It’s not the place to keep secrets. 

Well, not if you’re bad at keeping secrets that is. 

By the graces of the rumor mill, I heard about the new camper who had defeated the Minotaur unarmed before I saw him. 

And when I did finally see him . . . well, let’s say the rumors gave me more to look at. 

He was standing outside Cabin Eleven with Annabeth. I walked up to them, curious to find out just how much of the rumors were true. 

“Jackson, you have to do better than that,” Annabeth said to the new kid.

“What?” 

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I thought you were the one,” she mumbled. 

I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I could see that the new kid was getting frustrated with her. I stepped up quickly and shoved my hand out to him. “Hi,” I said to him. “I’m Amanda Castillo.”   
“Percy Jackson,” he said on a reflex, shaking my hand gently. 

I couldn’t help but smile at him. He reminded me of quiet nights on the beach, for some reason. “I’m gonna guess that you’re new here.”

He nodded. “Yeah . . . I killed some Minotaur last night and--”

“ _ The _ Minotaur,” Annabeth interjected. 

Percy shook his head. “No way I fought the same guy from the myths. He died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth.”

I smiled a bit. “You’re right about the myth,” I told him, “but monsters don’t die. Not like you and I can. We can dispel them for a while, maybe a whole lifetime, if you get lucky. But they come back, eventually.”

Percy paled a bit. “You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword--”

“The Fur- . . . I mean your math teacher, she’s still out there,” Annabeth cut in. 

I felt my eyes go wide. “What, he killed a Fury?” I bit my lip, wondering what my Father’s torturers would want with an unclaimed demigod. It couldn’t have anything to do with the Bolt, could it? Or worse . . . I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. No, it couldn’t be about that.

Percy sighed, shaking me from my thoughts. “Why do I even have to stay in Cabin Eleven anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There’s plenty of empty cabins over there.”

Annabeth paled and shook her head. “You don’t just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or parent, I guess.” 

“My mom is Sally Jackson,” Percy said simply, as if that were the answer to Annabeth’s unspoken question. I supposed to him, it was. “She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to.” I felt a twinge of sadness for him. 

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Annabeth said, “but that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about your other parent. Your dad.”

“He’s dead,” Percy said. I could hear the bitterness in his voice. “I never knew him.”

I shook my head. “He’s not. He’s a god, Percy.”

He stared at me like I was crazy. I quickly tried to explain. “Look, I bet you show all the signs. Dyslexia, ADHD? Probably kicked out of a bunch of schools? Besides, you had nectar and ambrosia. That stuff woulda killed you if you weren’t a half-blood.” 

I swore I could see the word rattle around in his head. 

But before he could think of something to say in response, a familiar voice interrupted us. “Well! A newbie!” 

“Clarisse,” Annabeth hissed, “why don’t you go polish your spear or something?”

“Sure, Miss Princess,” Clarisse taunted. “So I can run you through with it Friday night.” 

I stepped forward as Annabeth cursed. “Enough, Clarisse.” 

The daughter of Ares sneered at me. “The Hades cabin doesn’t stand a chance. Even with Athena and Daddy’s girl on your team. We’ll pulverize you.” She turned to Percy. “Who’s this little runt?”

“Percy Jackson,” Annabeth said, “Meet Clarisse, daughter of Ares.”

Percy blinked. “Like . . . the god of war?”

“You got a problem with that?” Clarisse sneered.

“No,” Percy retorted. “It explains the bad smell.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at that. He had a funny streak. 

“We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy,” Clarisse growled.

“Percy,” he gritted out. 

Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

I tried to step in between them. “Hey, cut it out--”  
“Stay out of it, Death Breath.” 

I balled my hands into fists. One of these days I was going to lose it on Clarisse.

Percy looked back at us and seemed to be trying to convince us he would be okay. I wasn’t so sure. He handed Annabeth his shoebox--probably a Minotaur horn--and got ready to fight. Clarisse just grabs him by the back of the neck and starts dragging him towards the bathroom. 

I cringed as Percy started kicking and punching at her, but Clarisse had a grip of steel. Annabeth and I followed behind Clarisse’s lackeys who laughed as Clarisse pushed him towards one of the toilets. 

“Like he’s ‘Big Three’ material,” Clarisse said. I started. That was a rumor I hadn’t heard. “I bet the Minotaur fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking,” Clarisse continued. 

She began to shove Percy’s head into the toilet when something strange happened. The pipes began to rumble and shudder. Suddenly, water came shooting out of the toilet, getting everyone in the bathroom wet, including Annabeth and me. 

All the toilets and showers started going crazy, spraying water everywhere. Clarisse screamed as the water pushed her around the bathroom. She and her lackeys finally made it to their feet and ran from the bathroom, the water calming in their wake. 

I shook off some of the water, glad my hellhound, Echo, was patrolling at the moment rather than with me. I wiped some water from my eyes and realized that Percy was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. He stood up, his legs shaky. 

“How did you . . .” Annabeth trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Percy answered hopelessly. 

I grinned, trying to make him feel a little better. “Whatever it was, it was cool.”

We stepped outside and found Clarisse and her friends slipping in the mud. She shot Percy a look dripping with hatred. “You’re dead, new boy. Totally dead.” 

To my surprise, Percy set his jaw and said, “You wanna gargle toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth.”

This time I didn’t hide my laughter as Clarisse’s friends dragged her away from us. I patted Percy on the back and grinned at him. He smiled at me, but his grin faded when he looked at Annabeth. I knew that look. She was planning something. 

“What?” Percy demanded. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” Annabeth told him, “that I want you on my team for capture the flag.”

Before Percy can reply, another familiar voice interrupts us. “ _ Di immortales, _ what in Hades happened here?”

I turned and smiled at Iris. She stood in the mud, Echo and Orpheus by her side. She looked up and saw Percy and she smiled. “Oh, it’s Percy.”


	7. I Adopt a Clueless Demigod

####  _ Iris  _

I had been in the fields most of the day pestering Daphne, my friend, about how to grow plants. I’ve never really had a green thumb but if you’re crushing on a Demeter kid you have to know your plants. Or at least pretend you do. I had been walking back to find Amanda and Annabeth when I heard a scream and took off running. Instead of chaos, I found Annabeth and Amanda covered in water. Clarisse and her lackeys were running off with their tails between their legs. I noticed Percy was the only person to come out unscathed. Next to me, Orpheus yapped and Echo barked in response. 

“Clarisse was giving us a problem,” Amanda told me as she tried to wring out her camp t-shirt, “how convenient of you to show up too late.” 

“What was the insult this time? Lightning rod?” 

“Daddy’s girl.” Annabeth informed me with a grin on her lips. Percy was looking between the three of us, incredibly confused. 

“There are worse things I could be,” I responded with a gentle laugh. “Come on, let’s get you two dry.” 

I led the girls towards my cabin and Percy followed, clearly confused and probably lonely.

“Where are we going?” Percy asked as we stopped in front of the massive white marble columns that marked Zeus cabin. 

“Home sweet home.” I responded, gesturing to the cabin. “Come have a seat, Jackson,” I patted the spot next to me in the grass and he obliged. The girls and the two hellhounds stood together as the winds picked up around them. 

“You’re the girl!” Percy all but yelled as the winds started to dry the girls off. I leaned back on my elbows and looked over at him, grinning widely. 

“I’m what girl?” I asked, raising an innocent eyebrow.

“The storm girl! The one that,” he paused, “you saved my life. And Grover’s.” 

“Nah, you did that yourself. Definitely Big Three material.” I told him and he gave me another look of confusion.

“Big Three? What is that?” Percy asked furrowing his brows. 

“Big Three, as in Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. Let me guess, you’re in Cabin 11 right now?” I asked and he nodded his head numbly. 

“It’s pretty crowded in there,” he told me and I laughed.

“Yeah. Well listen, you’re officially bunked there but you can stay in Cabin 1 with me anytime. Gods know I have the space.” 

“You got the new kid?” Annabeth called, she looked a little annoyed, “I need to go train.” 

“Go train! I’ve got Percy, no problem,” I called back and Annabeth nodded before taking off.

“And I,” Amanda grinned as she pulled her hair back, “have a training session with Dana.” 

“Her girlfriend,” I said to Percy and Amanda instantly blushed.

“Not my girlfriend!” She yelled back and I snickered. 

“See you two at dinner then,” I waved at them.

“Hey! Amanda, Annabeth?” Percy called and the two girls turned around. “I’m sorry, about the bathroom.” 

It didn’t look like either girl believed him. 

“Let’s take a walk,” I stand up and Percy follows, Orpheus shook himself and stretched before walking next to Percy. 

“What  _ is  _ this thing?” Percy seemed more than a little disturbed by Orpheus, which is understandable given that Orpheus is a hellhound.

“He’s my hellhound, Orpheus, I’ve had him for a couple of years now.” I explained. “Amanda got a pack of them from her father, they patrol the grounds. Except for Orpheus and little Echo, those two are loyal and spoiled companions.” 

“Amanda’s dad is-”   


“Hades, God of the Underworld.” I cut in and I give him a reassuring nod. “She’s sweet though, misunderstood. Mortals fear Hades, everyone does, nobody likes death.” 

“Could she talk to Hades, about my mom?” Percy asked me and I saw the hopeful glint in his eyes. I thought of a few months ago, when the elevator to the Underworld had been sealed shut.

“No, he’s kind of being a dick right now, so we’d have to wait on that.” I put it as gently as I could. 

We walked down by the river and the Naiads waved at us, Percy happily waved back. 

“Don’t encourage them, Naiads are hopeless flirts,” I whispered as we got close. 

“Naiads.” Percy said and he blinked. “That’s it, I want to go home now.” 

As he said that, he turned on his heel and started to walk away. I laughed loudly as I hooked his arm and spun him around. 

“This is your home, Percy. Trust me, this is where you need to be for now. It’s the only safe place for kids like us.” 

“Mentally deranged?” Percy asks dryly.

“Demigods.” Annabeth replied from behind us.    


“What happened to training?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Amanda and Dana are training together and nobody else is real competition besides Clarisse, or you. But I don’t count you and Amanda because you’re, well, you.” Annabeth replied pointedly and the two of us sat down, pulling Percy down between us. 

“What does she mean?” 

“Children of the Big Three are more powerful than other kids. Because our parents are the most powerful Gods,” I explained. 

“She and Amanda killed a Titan when they were ten years old.” Annabeth chimed in and Percy looked baffled.

“Like, Kronos?” Percy asked and I laughed.

“Not that powerful. Just some minor nobody titan.” I waved it off. “Anyways, as much as I hate to say it, Annabeth is right. And I think you know it.” 

“Know what?” Percy asked gently.

“That you’re not entirely human.” Annabeth gives him a look of annoyance.

“Alright, Annabeth, why don’t you go strategize for capture the flag? I know we always win, but I think this week it should be something special.” I waved the girl off and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already have a plan.”

“I’m sure you do.” I replied with a huff. She walked off and I slung an arm over Percy. 

“Am I really stuck here? Like, forever?” Percy’s voice cracked. I frowned at him and sighed.

“It kind of depends, some kids are able to get around in the real world okay. Those are the kids of less powerful gods, the ones monsters might ignore. The more powerful you are, though, the more monsters will come to challenge you.” 

“Have you been challenged by a lot of monsters?” Percy leaned closer to me as if I had the answers to his problems.

“No, but I’ve lived here since I was a baby. My mother died not long after I was born and my father brought me here. And he had the gods themselves train me.” 

“Your father..” Percy trailed off, “Zeus?” 

“That’s the one.” I nodded and he stared out at the water. 

“What’s stopping me from just leaving?”   


“Well, if you’re going to just leave right now, can we get a picture before you go? Something to use at your funeral.” I was being harsh, and I knew it, but Percy was in denial. What surprised me was the bitter laugh that Percy let out. 

“Alright, fair enough.”

“What’s one thing that would make camp more bearable for you?” I asked him, nudging his shoulder with my own.

“Uh, I guess bunking somewhere other than eleven would be nice.” He sputtered and I grinned, standing up and helping him to his feet.

“That can easily be arranged.” 

We walked through camp and I pointed out a few places he should be aware of. Though Chiron had probably done that for him already. We found Chiron working with the archers. Apollo Cabin, standing eyes trained on their targets. 

“Watch this,” I murmured to him. As the Apollo kids shot their arrows, a gust of wind blew them millimeters from their bullseyes. They all let out a collective groan and turned to look at me as I pulled Percy down the row towards Chiron.

“Iris, I see you’ve met Percy,” Chiron smiles.

“We met the other night,” I replied thinking back to Percy and I walking up the hill and to the Big House together. “Chiron, I’d like Percy to bunk with me in Cabin 1.”

“You know the rules, unclaimed children go to Hermes Cabin.” Chiron didn’t look at me and I frowned.

“Chiron, I’d really like it if Percy could bunk with me in Cabin 1. It’ll give some relief to Hermes cabin, which is overflowing anyways, plus he’ll train with Amanda and I.”

Chiron studied me, then studied Percy and finally nodded a concession. 

“Alright, I’ll have Mr. D updated,” Chiron’s response was tinged with weariness. Above us, thunder clapped through the sky. Campers around us winced. “Zeus doesn’t seem too pleased with this.” Chiron murmured to me.

“Zeus can get bent,” I replied and I waved him off. 

We went to Hermes Cabin so that Percy could collect whatever he had there. I was standing in the middle of the room, talking with other new campers. 

“And where is he going?” Luke asked as Percy picked up what looked to be the Minotaur’s horn. 

“Cabin 1, reassigned to relieve the overflow.” I replied, sticking my head up. 

“Well, I stole these for him from the Camp Store,” Luke showed us a bag of toiletries and I laughed. 

“Thanks,” Percy reached for them but Luke shook his head.

“Sorry, only Hermes kids get to share the bounty of my thefts.” 

Percy blushed as Luke laughed, and I could swear I’d seen Annabeth gawk at Luke the same way Percy did.

“Have fun in paradise, kid,” Luke said to Percy and he glanced between Luke and I uncertainly. “Iris, make sure the kid stays in one piece.” 

“No promises!” I replied cheerfully as I dragged Percy out the door.    
  
We walked quickly to my cabin, though I noticed Percy’s eyes lingering on Poseidon’s cabin. I was more than willing at this point to bet my life he was Poseidon’s kid. But I was sworn to secrecy, plus it doesn’t seem like a great ice breaker. Amanda was sprawled out on my bed, the hellhounds curled around her. 

“This is your bed,” I pointed to a twin bed in a room that shot off from my own, “I sleep right here.” I shoved Amanda aside and flopped on the bed. Percy looked between the two of us. 

“So, my dad has to,” Percy started and Amanda looked up from her book, “claim me?” 

“You’re finally processing that, huh?” Amanda asked. 

“How long was it before your dad claimed you?” Percy looked between the two of us. 

“We didn’t need to be claimed,” I said. 

“Hades raised me after Zeus murdered my mother, then he brought me to camp himself,” Amanda told him with a flick of her hair. 

“Zeus brought me to camp immediately after my mother died,” I said. “I was raised by Chiron and Mr. D and some campers that have long since moved on.” 

“What about Annabeth?” Percy asked leaning forward just a little. 

“Why don’t you ask Annabeth?” Amanda raised an eyebrow.

“I’m afraid she’ll punch me,” he replied somewhat sheepish. 

“She probably wouldn’t, if you asked nicely,” I said. 

We sat in silence a moment, listening to the thunder outside as it raged. Zeus was pissed, though I couldn’t figure out if it was because I had invited Percy in, or still because of the bolt. Either way, I didn’t really care. 

“Do you have any family that’ll take you in after the summer?” Amanda asked and Percy’s features drooped. He looked small, sad, scared. It’s a look I knew too well. 

“I have a stepdad, but he’s-” Percy sucked in a breath, “he’s not going to take me in. And I wouldn’t go anyways.” 

“He the one that gave you those scars?” I asked, keeping my voice level. Percy looked up at me, eyes wide, Amanda shot me a glare. 

“Uh, yeah, he has a temper,” Percy replied, “I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe.”

“I know the feeling of being raised by someone with a temper,” I snorted and he must’ve finally noticed the scars on my own body.

“You mean Zeus-”

“The gods have tempers,” Amanda cut in, looking away from us both. I had a feeling she was thinking about her last run in with her father’s temper. “Some worse than others.” 

“Anyways,” I shrugged the conversation off, “Annabeth said you were talking in your sleep. About the solstice.” 

“I don’t know anything about the solstice,” Percy started helplessly, “Grover and Chiron were talking about a deadline. But they haven’t said anything to me. And I don’t think Annabeth knows either.” 

“She doesn’t. Chiron told us we couldn’t tell her,” I told him, “but he never said we couldn’t tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“The deadline is because Zeus’ master bolt is missing. If it isn’t found by the solstice, things are going to get bad,” Amanda explained. She looked sick. I didn’t doubt she was probably thinking about her father’s helm. 

“You think I stole it?” Percy choked out and grew pale. 

“No, not at all. But I think you’re gonna be the one tasked to find it,” I told him and he looked at me with large eyes. 

“Let’s not worry about it tonight,” Amanda said quite pointedly. She shot me a glare. “We won’t know anything until there is a prophecy.” 

“O-okay,” Percy swallowed and nodded, trying to regain his composure. His stomach growled. 

“Ah yes, dinner time,” I cupped my hands over my mouth and sucked in a breath.

“Cover your ears!” Amanda commanded Percy as I let out the loudest whistle I could. The two winced as the whistle pierced their ears as if their hands weren’t even there. 

“Alright Cabin One! Fall in for dinner time!” I commanded and Amanda rolled her eyes at me. Percy scrambled to fall in line, whatever that meant, and Amanda and I laughed.

“You don’t actually have to do that, Percy,” Amanda said as she slung an arm over his shoulder. “She’s only the cabin counselor by default.” 

I put my hands to my chest and staggered backwards. “You wound me, madam.” 

“You hang out with Apollo too much,” Amanda snorted.    
  
We walked through camp towards the dining hall and Percy sat down at table one with Amanda and me.

“Usually,” Amanda informed Percy, “you sit with the cabin you live in. Divided by your godly parent.”

“But Amanda and I stopped doing that when we realized we’d have to eat alone,” I said. “So she and I sit together. And now, as an honorary member of Cabin 1, you get the same privilege.” 

Mr. D stood up and got everyone’s attention, as he did every summer. 

“I guess I should welcome new camper, Peter Johnson,” he called and I nudged Percy. 

“Welcome Peter,” I said and Amanda laughed. Percy blushed. From the head table, Chiron muttered something to Mr. D who grumbled.

“Percy Jackson. So, welcome Percy.” 

He went on to say some other things that you’d be better off asking Amanda about. I never pay attention and never have any clue what’s happening. It makes camp decidedly more interesting. When food started to appear I immediately started to make a plate, Amanda noticed Percy looking around wildly. 

“Tell the goblet what you want,” she told him. 

“Cherry coke!” Percy yelled into the goblet and we laughed.

“You don’t have to say it  _ into  _ the goblet, Percy. Just say it as if you were ordering it from a restaurant,” I laughed. 

The cherry coke filled the goblet and he blinked at it for a moment.

“ _ Blue  _ cherry coke.” 

Sure enough, the goblet filled with blue cherry coke. He took a sip and nodded his approval. 

“Why blue?” I asked as I handed him a plate and started to pile food onto it. 

“Uh,” Percy looked down and blushed, “my mom and I always eat blue food.” 

“Cool, maybe I’ll start eating food dyed black,” Amanda jokes and I snorted at her. 

“What was it that kid from Demeter called you? Emo?” 

Percy noticed the kids lining up to dump food into the fire in the center of the room. 

“Come on,” I nudged him before he could take a bite of the brisket on his plate. He frowned as Amanda and I led him to the fire and we stood waiting. 

“What is this?” He asked, looking between us.

“The gods are high maintenance-” I started but Amanda cut me off. Amanda is decidedly more helpful than me. 

“We sacrifice a bit of our meals to the gods, they like the smell.” 

“Thus we come to the conclusion the gods are high maintenance,” I sang and Amanda hummed her agreement. I looked at Percy and noticed the questions in his eyes. “This is a pretty serious thing, despite how I make light of it.” 

Amanda stepped up first, scraping in some food, “Hades.” 

I was next, scraping in a big slice of brisket and sighing before calling, “Zeus.” 

Percy stepped up and scrapped some food into the flame, opened his mouth, then closed it. Instead he looked like he was pleading with the gods, and perhaps he was. The gods do love it when people grovel to them. 

“Is there a way to figure out who my godly parent is?” Percy asked as we ate. I leaned back and broke apart my roll, feeding it to Orpheus under the table. 

“Doesn’t matter, if you figure it out, only matters that they claim you,” I said.

“I’d wager you’re probably an Apollo kid, maybe Hermes. We won’t know until you’re claimed, if it happens,” Amanda speculated.

“I’d wager he’s Poseidon’s kid,” I dared to say and Amanda choked. 

“I’m willing to take that wager,” she responded. “If I win, you have to clean up after Echo and the pack for a week.” 

“Fine, but if I win, you have to polish my spears and swords for two weeks,” I replied, a glint in my eyes. I reached a hand across the table and Amanda shook it. She was gonna be so angry when Poseidon claimed him. 

“Why Poseidon?” Percy asked gently and I looked over at him. 

“It’s just a hunch. Tell me Percy, does anything strange happen when you’re angry? Anything water related?” I asked and his eyes widened. 

“That doesn’t prove anything!” Amanda cut in then she looked at Percy and her features softened. “Don’t get your hopes up. The Big Three have a pact not to have demigod children.” 

“Oh yeah,” I replied sarcastically, “and look how that turned out.” I gestured between the two of us and at this Amanda laughed. 

“Hey, you three!” It was Dana, she was wearing her camp t-shirt and walking over with Daphne. “Are you guys coming to the singalong?” 

“Yeah, but I’m not singing,” I told them.

“Apollo cursed her singing voice last week when she told him that he looked like a toad,” Amanda elaborated. The two girls laughed. 

“So it’s normal? To roast the gods?” Percy asked.

“When you’re a kid of the Big Three and you killed a titan as a child, yeah, it is.” I replied as I slung an arm over his shoulder. 

“Come on, Jackson, we’ve got songs to ruin.” 

Percy spent some of the singalong talking to Annabeth, and she looked like she wanted to hit him, I assumed he asked about her parents. Then he came back to where Amanda and I were and he sat with us, Luke came over and talked and we all sang. It was a good night around the fire, summer is usually full of those. But I could feel it, and I know Amanda could too, the blanket of sadness that surrounded Percy. 

When we walked back to the cabin, he seemed torn between happiness and depression. I don’t blame him, he’d been through a lot already. As Amanda and I passed out in my bed, my thoughts drifted to helping Percy find his mom. Maybe after we found the helm, Hades would be in a better mood, but that was a question for Amanda. It was a good night at camp. I wish it had stayed that way.


	8. We Find the Source of Percy's Daddy Issues

####  _ Iris  _

I woke up from my dream, the same dream I’d had all week. Zeus and Poseidon fighting it out on a beach, only now I saw Percy as the figure running to stop them. Percy was still passed out on his bed, Amanda was hogging my blankets and my dog. 

“Traitor,” I muttered to Orpheus as he refused to get up with me. It was before dawn, the perfect time for me to slink around camp undetected. I walked down to the river and sat, the Naiads handing me a slip of paper from Poseidon. He’d told me years ago that, if I ever needed him, I could have the Naiads send him a letter. 

A few months ago, my father brought me to Olympus to apologize, he told me that he’d figured out who stole the bolt from me. He’d figured out Poseidon had a son. He railed hard on the idea that my Uncle did this, that Poseidon’s kid had done it. I tried to convince him otherwise but he wouldn’t listen. Zeus doesn’t listen to anyone but himself. So, I sent a letter to my Uncle Poseidon, warning him that Zeus had his mind set on finding and punishing Percy for stealing the bolt. Telling him that Zeus accused him of wanting the bolt. Poseidon wasn’t pleased with this information, though he was grateful I told him. The two had been warring ever since. Did I create a divine level international incident? Yes, I did. Do I regret it? To be determined. 

“Soon,” I read the note aloud to the Naiads who blinked at me in confusion. 

“Hey!” It was Amanda, I threw the strip of paper in the water, turned, and grinned at her. “You weren’t in the cabin when we woke up. You’re really slacking on your counselor duties,” Amanda joked. 

“I’m coming, you’re so impatient,” I teased in response. I slung my arm over Amanda’s shoulder and we walked back to Cabin 1. Percy was sitting on the floor, he glanced at us as soon as we walked in. 

“Don’t be mad, but I accidentally knocked over your weapons,” he said, “and I tried to pick them up but they fell in a pile and there was a bolt of lightning on the floor so it looked like maybe I shouldn’t pick it up,” he rambled. 

“I’ll grab it,” I said with a grin.

“I told you to put the bolt in its case!” Amanda called after me. Sure enough, Percy had managed to knock over an entire rack of swords and spears, the lightning bolt on top. I grabbed it, feeling the hum in my hands, before putting it in its case. 

Percy needed a lot of training. A lot. And we quickly developed a sort of curriculum for him. Annabeth would take him after breakfast to study Ancient Greek while Amanda and I used that time to do our own readings. Then we’d pair up with other cabins, running the strawberry fields with the Demeter kids, gossiping with Aphrodite. Chiron wanted to help Percy figure things out, we tried archery but he wasn’t very good at that.

“Finally someone worse than you,” Amanda teased as Chiron plucked one of Percy’s arrows from his tail. 

Percy didn’t like being watched by everyone, the older counselors all had their eyes fixed on him when he walked by. It was more than a curious glance, it was constant mutterings. I knew the feeling, and so did Amanda. We took Percy in and I made good on my word to Chiron, Percy trained with us. 

“Alright, Percy, let’s find you a spear,” I said and he glanced at me in horror. We tried a few spears but everything seemed awkward in his small hands. 

“Come on, spears aren’t even that great,” he groaned as he failed to hit his mark. Amanda muttered her agreement.

“Spears are deadly if you know how to wield one,” I replied and he snorted. 

“I’d like to see you throw one then,” he challenged.

“No, you wouldn’t!” Amanda called from behind him. I grinned like a fool as I pulled the star from the center of my crown and held the stick, the star turned into a spear in my hand and I threw it quickly. It pierced the training dummy’s chest and hay exploded everywhere. 

“What the-” 

“The crown was a gift from Zeus,” I explained, “each star is fixed to the crown by a stick. When I remove the stars from the crown, they turn into spears.”

“Cool,” Percy nodded and I laughed. 

“Okay what’s next?” Amanda asked and I shrugged. 

“I think swords with Hermes cabin,” I said as Luke approached the circle.

“You three coming?” Luke asked and we nodded. I grabbed my spear and placed it back in my crown. 

“Swords?” Percy asked and I nodded.

“It’ll be fun, you’ll enjoy it.” I told him and he hesitantly agreed. 

The Hermes kids gathered in a circle and looked at Amanda and I in a mix of awe and fear as we stood with Luke. Percy was lined up with the rest of them, holding a sword I didn’t think would work for him. Luke agreed with me, but as Amanda pointed out, it was all we had. 

“I could steal something from Poseidon’s cabin,” I mentioned but this idea was shot down. 

Percy was whacking the dummy pretty well, but Luke wasn’t particularly impressed. Honestly, neither was I, but I figured it would take him some time. Amanda and I helped Luke correct Percy’s forms. 

“Come on Percy,” I called to him, “give it some force.” 

Percy obeyed. 

“Now we split into groups, to spar,” Luke called all of the other Hermes kids paired off. 

“I guess I’ll go with Luke,” Amanda sighed and I grinned, nodding my thanks. 

“Alright, Percy, it’s me and you,” I slung an arm over his shoulder and Percy gulped. 

“Do I just attack?” Percy asked watching the other kids swing their blades. 

“Yep, go ahead,” I called to him, bracing myself. He swung his sword and I blocked it, knocking his hit off before whacking him in the ribs. “Use your shield, guard yourself,” I called to him. 

We went a few more times. Each time I’d give Percy advice he’d try to follow, and each time I’d whack him in a new place. I felt bad about the bruises, and the sweat the poor kid was drenched in. 

“Water break!” Luke called and I grinned. We gathered around the water cooler, Amanda and I drinking water and then splashing it on our face. 

“Hey, Percy!” I yelled and he glanced over. He gasped when I hurled water in his face and wiped at his eyes, Amanda snickered.

“Wait, that felt good,” he said and he ended up dumping another cup on his face.

“Okay, now I’m going to do a demonstration,” Luke called and the other campers started to shrink, not wanting to be selected as a participant. “Percy, why don’t you come help me.” 

Percy looked at me and I nodded my reassurance before shoving him towards Luke. Luke was demonstrating a technique of using the flat of a blade to force a sword from your opponent’s hand. I had to admit, Luke was formidable with a sword, not on mine and Amanda’s level, but definitely talented for a kid who only learned in camp. Percy looked astonished when Luke demonstrated the technique and Amanda grinned.

“Reminds me of when we first started training with Ares,” she muttered to me and I laughed my agreement. 

“Alright, now we’ll fight until one of us manages the trick,” Luke called to everyone. Amanda leaned forward to watch as the two boys’ swords began to clash. I watched closely as Percy swung the sword, he was obviously bewildered, it was as if his body knew what to do but his mind didn’t understand what was happening. Luke’s eyes flashed with nervousness as he started to put more power in his hits. I watched with a huge grin as Luke was disarmed by Percy, the other campers started with open mouths. 

“Great job, Percy!” I called as Percy apologized to Luke. Luke just grinned at him. 

“Don’t apologize, that was great. Let’s see if you can do it again,” Luke picked up his sword and the two started again. This time, Luke was able to disarm Percy quickly. 

“Guess it was beginner’s luck,” Percy shrugged and I grinned. 

“Guess so,” Luke replied but he didn’t seem convinced. Amanda stared at Percy then leaned over to me.

“Maybe an Ares kid?” she asked, but I shook my head. I knew. If there had been any doubt before, there wasn’t any left. 

“That was great Percy!” I praised, as we walked to cabin one. Amanda was spending the night with Annabeth in the Hades Cabin. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, blushing. 

“Come on, let’s go train a little more, just for fun,” I dragged him with me to the cabin first. We grabbed him a better sword and shield, then I dragged him into the woods with me. 

“Where are we going?” Percy asked as I yanked him along. 

“The river, in capture the flag , acts as a barrier. Sometimes you have to fight your way across, so it’ll be good for you to get used to fighting someone while also being forced along the currents.” 

“Makes sense,” Percy nodded though his eyes said he was still confused. We came up to a bend in the river, not many campers came to this area. I shoved Percy into the water and joined him, sword in hand. 

“Alright Percy, let’s see what you’ve got,” I called to him. He nodded and set his eyes on me, looking a little frightened but also determined. I didn’t hold back much, I swung my sword and he blocked it. His body knew what to do, and he was stronger in the water, though he didn’t notice it. I started to up the force of my blows, he matched me. If anyone was watching from a distance, they’d probably think it was Amanda and I training. 

“Sorry!” Percy yelled when he managed to hit my arm. 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s a good hit,” I replied as I whacked his arm. I eventually disarmed him and shoved him back into the water. He fell under the water and I laughed as his head bobbed up. 

“Revenge!” Percy yelled suddenly as he dove for my ankles. He took me down and I plummeted into the water. I sucked in a breath under the river water and saw two Naiads smiling at me. I sat up and laughed as I splashed Percy and he returned the favor. We eventually climbed back onto the riverbank and laid out, watching the stars. 

“I guess water is like my lucky charm,” Percy joked, not knowing how right he was.

“Guess you’ll have to carry a bottle of water around from now on,” I replied and he laughed. 

“So, do you think I’ll do good in capture the flag?” Percy looked at me and I could feel his nerves as if they were my own. The first capture the flag game is always nerve wracking. 

“You’ll do fine. You’re on the best team,” I told him. 

I dried us off, and we went back to my cabin and passed out promptly.

* * *

Friday morning I told Percy he was free to do whatever he wanted to do, he went off with Grover while I trained with Amanda. 

“So Percy is surprisingly a good fighter, I feel bad to use him as bait,” Amanda said as our swords clashed. I ducked under her next swing and then sent my blade across her arm. She hissed. 

“We’ll be with him, it’s not like he’s going to be alone,” I replied as she whacked me in the side. I hit the ground and rolled away from her next hit. Then I kicked out my leg and brought her to the ground with me. We rolled in the dirt before I pinned her with the training sword. 

“Hey, Iris,” Clarisse called. When I looked over, Amanda used the time to pull the sword from my hands and hit me in the face with the butt of it. I groaned as it connected with my shoulder and moved off of her. “Can we talk?” Clarisse asked and I narrowed my eyes. 

“If I’m not back in five minutes, send in the hounds,” I warned jokingly and Amanda laughed before mock saluting. I followed Clarisse down to the river. 

“Ares Cabin is going to win tonight,” she told me, “we want to offer the Zeus Cabin a chance to be on our side.” 

“You want an alliance?” I asked with a single raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, we’d be willing to give you arts and crafts with the Demeter cabin.” 

“Hard pass,” I said with a laugh.

“We’re going to win, with or without you.” 

“Then you can do it without me,” I said turning on Clarisse. “I’ve already told you, Clairsse, Zeus Cabin doesn’t ally itself with bullies and hacks.” 

“Are you calling Ares Cabin hacks?” Calrisse’s eyes darkened. 

“Yeah, I am. You’re all brawn no brain, just like your dad.” 

“Watch what you say about my father. He’s the God of War,” Clarisse throws the words around like they mean something. To other campers, they do. Amanda and I have always been immune to the gods, to their pettiness, and that really skewed my sense of boundaries. 

“Oh please, I’ve beat Ares before, Amanda has beat Ares before. Percy could beat Ares if he wanted to,” I laughed and Clarisse moved to shove me. Before she could, I stepped to one side, grabbed her arm, and twisted it behind her. I shoved her away from me. 

“You’ll regret not making an alliance. Should’ve dropped Death Breath and your crummy friends when you had the chance.” 

She stalked off and Amanda came up beside me, watching her leave.

“What was that about?”   


“Pleasant as always,” I rolled my eyes, “she wanted to make an alliance.” 

“I thought you were a Daddy’s Girl?” Amanda snorted and I grinned.

“You’re still Death Breath, which I think has to be one of the laziest insults,” I said and Amanda laughed her agreement.

“I don’t think Clarisse gets to talk about smells,” she agreed.

“We’d better win tonight,” I said. “I insulted the hell out of Ares and the cabin. Those kids are going to come at Percy and I with a vengeance.” 

“It’s okay, the three of us can take those schmucks any day,” Amanda said as we walked towards dinner.

“Agreed.” 

Percy found us at dinner, and we scraped our offerings into the fire. We ate in a sort of jittery silence. I could feel the electric excitement in the atmosphere. Finally, Chiron blew the conch after dinner had been cleared away. We stood up, the three of us at our table, as Annabeth ran in with two of her siblings and the massive flag. It was silver with a barn owl above an olive tree. Clarisse ran in with their blood red flag that had a boar’s head on it and I rolled my eyes.

“Do Athena and Ares always have the flags?” Percy asked.

“Not always, but mostly,” I replied, “Zeus Cabin has never lost, but we never physically have the flag because there’s only one me and I’d rather fight than grab a stick and run.” 

Percy nodded his understanding. 

“Have you guys ever lost capture the flag?” He asked us and I looked at Amanda. 

“We almost lost that time we competed against Apollo and Artemis,” she says, “but we ended up winning by the skin of our teeth.” 

“You played Apollo and Artemis themselves?” Percy seemed amazed and intimidated.

“Yeah, not too long ago, it was a close win. Like we said, we trained with the gods themselves,” I told him.

“So what happens if another cabin gets the flag? Do they paint it?” Percy asked.

“You’ll see,” Luke called and we spun to see him standing behind us. “First we have to get one.” 

“Is Luke on our team?” Percy asked.

“Yeah, Zeus and Hades cabin usually ally with Athena, unless Annabeth pisses us off but that’s pretty rare, and this week Hermes is in a temporary alliance with Athena.” 

“So, who has who?” Percy looked between all of us.

“Well, Athena got Hades, Zeus, Hermes, and Apollo. Ares got the rest.” 

“That doesn’t seem great?” Percy’s statement came out a question.

“Apollo and Hermes are the biggest cabins.” 

“Yeah, Apollo is a whore,” Amanda told Percy, I grinned. 

“We’re getting a flag tonight,” Luke said and he looked at Percy, “and you’re going to help.” 

The teams broke up, Luke and I walked side by side as Amanda walked with Annabeth and Percy slipped up to talk to the girl. He’d said in his sleep something about princess curls, I could only assume he was talking about Annabeth. 

“You know your task?” Luke asked me and I grinned.

“Of course I do. I was working on it earlier.” 

“Oh really?” Luke asked.

“Insulting Ares himself is a great way to provoke the wrath of the Ares Cabin.”

Luke laughed, “Be careful.” 

Percy was wearing the armor Chiron had picked for him, though it looked like it could consume him. The blue plume of helmets that surrounded us was temporary reassurance, there was backup. Of course I knew that we would be drawing the fiercest fighters from Ares cabin. At least we would if Annabeth’s plan worked. 

I slipped back, Percy and Amanda at my side. We took patrol by the creek, the three of us ready and braced. The conch sounded and I heard the yells of the other kids charging forward. We waited in silence, the night was hot, sticky, fireflies bumbling by every now and again. There was a low growl and I pulled my sword up on instinct. 

“Amanda, did you hear that?” I asked softly. She shook her head.

“No, what was it?” 

“I-”

“Well, look what we have here,” it was Clarisse and several of her siblings. I counted at least seven, and all of their eyes were fixed on us. “Cream these punks!” she commanded pointing her spear at us. Percy ducked the first kid as they charged across the creek, but then the three of us were surrounded. Clarisse stabbed at Percy with her spear but I grabbed it, taking the jolt of electricity. 

“The spear is electric, don’t let it touch you,” I hissed to Percy as Clarisse sliced my palm. 

“Oh, we’ve got something special for you and Death Breath,” she said and I got shoved out of the circle that was formed around Percy. Amanda and I looked up in time to see four wild boars sharpening their tusks on the ground. 

“Look out!” Amanda shoved me to one side and I rolled, pulling my shield and sword up and cutting at the boar’s thick skin.    


“Amanda!” I tossed her a spear and she caught it, dropping her shield and sword. I dropped mine as well and pulled out a spear, dropping to one knee. We both braced the spears in front of us as the boar ran. The first two boars ran themselves through on the spears, squealing and wailing in the night. The next two ran and I barely dodged one of the tusks. The impaled boars bled out and I leapt into the sky, lightning struck one boar as Amanda dispatched the last one. I grabbed my sword and jumped over the circle the Ares kids had made around Percy. Both of his arms looked limp at his sides.    
  
“The wild boar is a stupid mascot, kind of like you’re a stupid demigod,” I taunted one of the kids. He swung his sword and I sidestepped it before hitting him. The pommel of my sword struck his helmet and I watched his eyes shake as he dropped to the ground. Another Ares kid came running for me, I ducked under his blow and my sword blocked his. Amanda used the disorder to break the circle more, taking on two other kids. Percy was bleeding as he staggered into the creek. The look of panic faded from his features as his jaw set and he confidently held his sword--water was his good luck charm. 

The Ares kid attacking me nicked the shoulder of my armor and I kicked his stomach, sending him staggering backwards. I swung my sword and he barely blocked it, then after a brief dance, I disarmed him and smacked his helmet with the flat of his own blade. He collapsed to the ground. I spun to find Percy had already disarmed two kids, Amanda turning to watch him as Percy broke Clarisse’s spear. 

“You worm breath!” Clarisse growled and she lunged towards him but he smacked her with the sword, sending her reeling backwards. She went to charge him again when we heard a yell coming from the Ares side. Luke broke the treeline and charged to make it to the other side. Clarisse and the other two kids Percy had disarmed stood and tried to charge at Luke but it was too late. He landed on the other side, two Apollo kids guarding his back and warding off the Hephaestus kids.

“Yes!” I screamed in triumph as Luke landed on the other side. The horn blew, signaling the game over. We’d won. I ran over to Percy and hugged him.

“You did it!” I yelled. 

“They cut my arm,” he said lamely as Amanda approached. 

“Good job, Jackson,” I heard Annabeth whisper as she appeared behind him, taking off her cap. 

“You used me as bait!” Percy yelled.

“Oh come on, you had Iris and Amanda with you. Wasn’t like anything too bad was going to happen. Plus I was coming to help as soon as I could, but when I got here you didn’t need it.” She gestured to the Ares kids picking themselves up off the ground. “Your arm!” She said.

“Yeah, Clarisse’s spear,” he grumbled. 

“No, Percy,  _ look _ ,” she pointed and the three of us glanced to see that the cut had healed, faded. I wish I had cool water healing powers. I wondered briefly if lightning could heal me the way that water could him, probably not. “Step out of the water, Percy.” 

Percy stepped out and sagged into me, he looked exhausted again, weak, I held him up the best I could.

“Oh _Styx_ ,” Annabeth cursed, “this is  _ not  _ good. I thought it would be Zeus.” 

“What?” Percy asked. 

There was another growl and my ears perked. Orpheus howeld a warning from close by and Chiron ordered everyone to prepare their weapons. Before anyone could react, a hellhound leapt from the woods and tackled Percy from the side. Percy grabbed his jaws. Archers started to launch a volley of arrows but were cut off by Echo and Orpheus charging in. Orpheus tackled the hound from the side and the two rolled, both dogs got to their feet and Echo helped Orpheus back the other hound up. The hound lunged at Echo but got tackled again by Orpheus, then Echo joined. 

“Down!” I yelled at the dogs and our hounds obeyed. Amanda charged forward, her eyes shined white, something they did when she used her Underworld-granted powers. Her hands were surrounded by black shadows, an indication of her anger. 

“ _ Get out! _ ” she commanded and it took me a moment to realize she’d said it in Ancient Greek. The hound had to obey and it vanished back to its home. We spun back to Percy and he stood up shakily. He was bleeding badly, Chiron came over.

“ _ Di immortales!”  _ Annabeth said. 

“What was a hellhound doing here?” I asked, looking to Amanda.

“I don’t know, I didn’t summon it!” she replied. 

“Someone else summoned it,” Chiron said, voice grave. 

“Percy did it!” Clarisse yelled. 

“Silence, child!” Chiron ordered and Clarisse fell silent. 

“You’re injured,” I told him, “come on let’s get you in the water,” I said and he looked at me confused.

“Why?” 

“Just trust me,” I said to him gently. I helped him into the water.

“Chiron watch this,” Annabeth said and everyone watched as Percy and I stepped into the water. I watched in fascination as the water ran up Percy’s body, as it healed his wounds. He winced gently as they closed. 

“I don’t-I don’t know why,” Percy floundered, trying to apologize, “I’m sorry.” 

The trident symbol flickered above his head and all of the campers gawked. 

“Percy,” Annabeth said, “um.” 

Percy looked up as the trident began to fade. But I knew he saw it.

“Polishing my weapons,” I whispered to Amanda and she glared. 

Annabeth looked a shade paler and if I’m being honest, so did Percy. 

“It has been determined!” Chiron yelled to all of the campers. All around us, the campers started to kneel, including the Ares cabin. 

“My father?” Percy asked astutely, as if this hadn’t been what we had been waiting for all week. 

“Poseidon,” said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus  Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

After that, we went our separate ways. Amanda and I took Percy to cabin one to grab his minotaur horn and move into the Poseidon cabin.

“I don’t understand, my father is….Poseidon?” Percy asked and Amanda nodded gently. 

“Welcome to the club Percy,” I said with a grin.

“Why did they all bow, but you didn’t?” Percy asked. 

“They bowed because your dad is one of the Big Three, so you’re sort of ranked above them. We didn’t bow because we’re on equal ground. A child of the Big Three never bows,” I explained easily. 

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Percy looked sick. I put both hands on his shoulders to steady him and I gave him a smile.

“You’re going to be okay,” I told him. Then I wrapped him in a hug and Amanda joined. The three of us stayed like that for a few moments, a tangled mess of limbs, the three of us reveling in the comfort. 

“You’re family, Percy,” Amanda told him gently as we broke away.

“Whatever happens, we’ve got your back,” I promised. Percy looked more assured and nodded.

“Let’s walk you to your cabin,” Amanda said as she guided Percy towards the door. 

“We’ll stay the night tonight,” I added, “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of Poseidon cabin.” 

Percy laughed and Amanda laughed. Things were going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Updating every Monday


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